Parent Voices: Vulnerability Hangover
“I never stopped to think about the fact that it might be okay.”
“Do you know if they know? Like, about what we’re doing?” I asked my husband.
“I don’t know. I’m sure Sarah has given them a heads up. I’ll text her to check,” he said.
“Okay. I guess that’s a good idea.”
My anxiety about an upcoming birthday party we’d be attending—where “other people” would be—was growing. People outside our small pandemic circle would be there. We’re vaccinated now. The world is opening back up.
The bubble has popped.
And I wasn’t nervous for me. Well, maybe I was a little. But I was mostly nervous for my child, or, on behalf of my child. My trans son. I felt nervous to think about how he’d be received. Last time we saw them, sure—he had really short hair—but he was in a dress. He had a bow in his short hair. He was still using his birth name.
This time, with these extended family members, would be different. It would be hot. There would be a pool. There’d be bathing suits. He wouldn’t want to wear a top. There’d be he/him pronouns. And his chosen name.
It might be confusing. It might be weird. It might be awkward.
I never stopped to think about the fact that it might be okay.
“Yeah, they know what’s going on,” was the gist of the text my husband showed me.
“That’s good. It’ll be fine,” I said. Not feeling fine, but pretending (to myself) it was fine.
Because I love him. I want my son to feel comfortable and safe and happy. And I want him to be healthy and confident and…alive.
I want his life to be exactly what he wants it to be.
It’ll be fine.
It’ll be fine.
And it was actually quite fine.
No one did anything confusing or weird or awkward. The kids played and had a blast together. People used his name. His pronouns.
He didn’t feel confused or weird or awkward. He looked happy. He was happy. He is happy.
So, it felt strange waking up feeling a random pang of sadness the day after the party. And the next day, and the next. I was annoyed with it and tried to push it aside. But it stayed. It ached. Like a bruise on your thigh after clumsily bumping into the corner of the kitchen table. (It happens more than I’d care to admit.)
I tried to pinpoint what the sadness was and where it was coming from and after journaling about it and sitting with it, I realized the feeling was: raw. And the location was: my heart. My bruise wasn’t from the kitchen table, it was from feeling overexposed at the party.
I had a very real case of vulnerability hangover.
“I hate this. I didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong. Everything went okay. Didn’t it?” I asked him, paranoia splattered across my face.
“It was great, honey. It was totally great,” he promised.
We hugged and he moved on and I carried that feeling of uncertainty, of vulnerability throughout my day. I carried it during drop off and pick up and to the playground. I carried it while cooking dinner and tucking my kids into bed. I carried it while watching TV on the couch that night.
And I carried it for a few more days.
It’s lighter now. It doesn’t feel like an ache anymore. For now. But I think I’ll always carry a variation of this feeling, and many other feelings, on this journey of raising a transgender child.
I’ll carry them for him always hoping it’ll lighten his load.
This was the first of many “coming out” experiences we’ll have together this summer. See—one of the few bright spots we found in this pandemic was protection from the world as we got used to my kiddo’s pronouns and name and “boyness”. But now, the world is knocking. And I think they want to meet my son.
I don’t know if I’m ready for it all, but he is. So I’m going to do what I do best when I want to keep my kids calm, even if I’m sort of freaking out inside—I’m going to pretend a little. I’m going to be brave even though I’m scared, joyful even though I feel exposed, and I’m going to give people the benefit of the doubt, even though I feel ready to attack.
Most of all, I’m going to follow his lead, like I always do.
And since he always seems to lead with love—I will, too.
Parent Voices is an anonymous opportunity for parents to voice their experience of raising a trans child, without disclosing their identity, and outing their child. If you would like to submit an article please send it to hello@genderspecialist.com with the subject line “Parent Voices”
